Too Old
by penofjade
Summary: Sarah is too old for pretty lies and make believe...But just because you stop believing in something, doesn't mean it no longer exists.
1. Ignorance

A/N: For those who are reading "Only a Dream", this has nothing to do with it! I was sitting at my computer, and this little piece popped out of nowhere. I suddenly asked myself what it would have been like if Sarah had come back and been completely unwilling to believe that any of it was real.

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><p>She was too old for fairy tales. Too old for pretty lies and make believe. Fantasy didn't thrill her anymore. All the promises had been offered and she'd blithely grabbed at reality in a bid for control. She'd bartered her brother for a moment in another world; she'd given up the other world to bring her brother home. But there had been lies. Oh, so many beautiful, wonderful, enticing lies. Like the sirens of old, singing to the sailors who came too close, the words tried to sweep her from her feet. Dressed all in white, hair spun in cobwebs and moonbeams, she'd almost fallen into those whispered words. But the ticking of time had caught her on the brink. It had wrapped itself around her and reminded some part of her mind what was at stake.<p>

His eyes had watched her, glowing with a magic she'd never truly understand. They had followed her all around that room, but his words were what finally caught her. Words had power. Especially in dreams. And so, in the end, she'd destroyed everything with the words she'd learned from a book. The little red book she'd loved so much. It had held everything for her, and, in the end, everything had been destroyed by it. Like the ruby slippers on Dorothy's feet, it woke her from the dream. Or nightmare.

Magic was a myth, she reminded herself every so often. Magic was for children. She wasn't a child. Not anymore. Now she was something else. Was she a woman? That didn't sound right, either. She wasn't a child, and she wasn't a woman. She simply...was. It had been a powerful dream, but she knew it could be nothing more than that. The blond man with the mismatched eyes was no more real than the gods of old. He was simply the siren of her fantasy, calling to her from the depths of an imagination she didn't want anymore.

The sounds which woke her in the middle of the night were house-sounds. They were neighborhood sounds. They were street sounds. Cat sounds. Dog sounds. Baby brother sounds. And no matter what she thought she saw, they were only shadows on the wall. Little goblins in garish, dirty clothes belonged in the storybooks she'd packed away. Large, hairy behemoths with sad eyes and low voices didn't watch her as she slept. And kings, glowing in the flashes of light, didn't come and hold her when storms raged beyond her window. It was her pillow she hugged so tightly as the world sounded as though it would fall to pieces all around her. Worlds didn't fall to pieces...She knew they didn't...They couldn't...They wouldn't...

She was too old for fairy tales. Too old for pretty lies full of love and stars and crystal ballrooms. But she didn't eat the peaches. And she didn't say the words. And she didn't open a little red book. She was too old for magic. Too old for make believe. And the storm raged on as she hugged her pillow tight and ignored the steady beat of an imaginary heart beneath her cheek...

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><p>And yes, she is ignoring the fact that, while she doesn't want to believe in any of them anymore, they still believe in her and refuse to leave her alone ^.^<p> 


	2. Cruel, Cruel Eyes

A/N: I wasn't going to do any more to this fanfic, but someone over on dA suggested a chapter from Jareth's perspective. I was interested enough to give it a go. However, I don't think I'll be working any more on this one. It was really just supposed to be a wandering bit of thought anyway...Please enjoy!

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><p>He was too old to just give up. Too old to just walk away. His life was no longer his to do with as he pleased: it belonged, heart and soul, to a young woman who'd thrown everything back in his face. Her eyes had watched him as it all came apart at the seams. Her green eyes...he'd called them cruel. Dark hair framing pale skin...and those eyes...a fairy green. But he'd kept his promise, both she and the child had been returned. He'd been noble...so incredibly bloody noble! But he was too old to simply let that be it. He had used her wish to gain her attention. Now he wanted her love. He'd said <em>fear me<em>...what he'd really meant was _stay with me_. _Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave_. His pride of place had given him words to speak, but he had been her slave since before she'd sent the boy into his arms.

Her imagination was a thing of incredible beauty. She was a thing of incredible beauty. Even after she'd poured over her books well into the night and her eyes were red. Even after she'd fallen ill and lay coughing and moaning under thick blankets. There were so many "even afters"...He was held captive by a small slip of a girl who ignored him with a passion rivaling his own. Her eyes had been cruel in his world...now they were blank. He would stroke her hair as the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, but her eyes stayed empty. He would cradle her in the dark when the wind howled and rain pummeled her window, but she refused to know him. He would murmur soft sounds to soothe her when the storm had worn itself out and drifted away, but she never acknowledged his voice. And in the morning, when she'd look around the room, they would all be gone. They were creatures of shadow and moonlight. But that's all she thought they were...shadows and moonlight.

He was too old to be impatient. Too old to rush what must come in the end. Her mind would one night lose out to her imagination. She would look, and see, and then, oh glorious night, she would believe! She would grumble and glare and push him away, but he wanted so badly to see recognition in her cruel, cruel eyes once again. She was too young to never see again. Too young to walk away from fairy tales and make believe. After all, myths and legends are born out of irrefutable truths. And he was an irrefutable truth, even if she could only see the myth he wore wrapped around himself like a cloak.

Until that time came, however, he would continue to hold her in the dark. He would believe for her. The others would move amongst the shadows, looking at her with longing and hope. He would do more than look. He would wrap himself around her and wait. He was good at waiting. He was too old to be impatient...Too old to just give up...Too old to simply walk away...

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><p>And Jareth is now going to make a nuisance of himself in order to get her attention...If any of you are fans of Girls Next Door over on deviantArt, you'll know why the image of this makes me gigglesnort ^.^<p> 


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